


Lost & Found

by fangirlingtodeath513, GhoulsnHalos (Morgawse)



Series: Writers of Destiel Challenges [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Famous Dean Winchester, First Meetings, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Gilda, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27298012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlingtodeath513/pseuds/fangirlingtodeath513, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgawse/pseuds/GhoulsnHalos
Summary: Castiel's somehow been coerced into attending the biggest Hollywood party of the year-his brother Gabriel's Halloween party. It's not his scene, but he figures with Charlie and his girlfriend there, at least he won't be alone.Dean Winchester is looking for a bit of anonymity and Gabriel Novak's party presents the perfect opportunity. No one will have a clue who he is and he'll get to spend one, blissful night as just another guy at a party.Everything changes when Castiel loses his cell phone.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Writers of Destiel Challenges [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1369456
Comments: 7
Kudos: 122
Collections: Promptus Exchangarama





	Lost & Found

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyy :D This was written for the Writers of Destiel Promptus Exchangarama! My prompt was 'halloween party' and I think my wonderful partner (DisenchantedHalo) and I actually created a super cool fic! 
> 
> Big shoutout to FaerieQueen92 for beta-reading this fic so most of our embarrassing errors are rectified before publishing :)

Castiel’s not quite sure how he allowed himself to be dragged into this. He hates parties enough as is, but one that has all the major Hollywood stars masked and anonymous? He can’t think of anything that would fuel his anxiety more. He’d promise Charlie, though, and Gabe would be pissed if he didn’t at least show his face. Figuratively, that is. 

Heaving a sigh, he shoves himself off his couch, grimacing at the crumbs that fall from his clothes. This break has been great for his mental health, but not so great for the cleanliness of his apartment. He starts with that. It’s the one thing he can actually do—his costume, one picked personally by Charlie, isn’t arriving until later that night. She’d assured him that a mask would be included, so he doesn’t have to add anything to the outfit. That’s probably for the best. He’s never really been good with fashion and with this being a party attended by some of the biggest Hollywood stars, his normal wardrobe surely won’t do.

By the time someone buzzes his apartment, the living room and kitchen are both spotless. He hastily pulls on a clean shirt and presses the intercom button. “Hello?”

“Cas!” Charlie’s voice is a little tinny through the intercom but he’d recognize it anywhere. “Let me in, I’ve got your outfit!”

He buzzes her inside and unlocks the door to his apartment. He’s putting the last of his dishes away when Charlie lets herself in, a garment bag in her hand and a scary grin on her face.

“You’re gonna be the hottest person at this party,” Charlie coos, hanging the bag on the back of the apartment door. “Well, besides me, of course.”

Castiel smiles. “Of course. Do I get to see what I’m wearing?”

Charlie practically bounces on her heels as she slides the zipper down the length of the garment bag with a flourish, pulling the sides apart and tucking them behind the hanger. 

The outfit is fully black, though Castiel doesn’t really mind that. Most of his wardrobe is black, so he’s quietly thankful that Charlie hasn’t put him in some outrageous color. The slacks and dress shirt seem normal. The tie has an intricately designed mechanical heart woven into the fabric in a grey thread, right over where Castiel’s own heart would be.

The suit jacket is clearly the statement piece. The inside is smooth and feels expensive, and the outside is covered by a velvety fabric. Once again, all kinds of cogs and steampunk symbols are woven into the fabric. Castiel’s rather impressed by the intricacies of the designs and he can’t help but glance at Charlie with a mixture of fear and awe. He doesn’t even want to begin to think about how much this cost her and why on earth she spent this much money on him. 

As if she can read his mind, Charlie grins and slips it off the door, handing it to him. “Gilda made it. Basically begged me to, actually. She loves the steampunk aesthetic and she was beyond thrilled when I told her that was the theme. She made both of our dresses and asked to make your suit for you.”

Castiel scoffs. “Charlie, your girlfriend is terrifyingly talented. She did all this by herself?”

Charlie grins proudly. “Hell yeah, she did. Now go try it on. I’ve got our masks and I’m borrowing your bathroom to change and do my makeup. Gilda will be here in about ten minutes and then we can all head over together.”

Castiel hums and takes the garment bag delicately. He’s nervous to wear something that Gilda put so much love and effort into, but he’s also terribly excited. He hears Charlie making her way to his bathroom with her own garment bag, so he takes his and heads to his bedroom. He doesn’t find any shoes included with the costume, so he grabs his most expensive dress shoes, which pair surprisingly perfectly with the outfit. 

He’s so careful putting it on that it takes him longer than he cares to admit. Once it’s on, though, he can’t resist staring at himself in the mirror hanging from his closet door. He looks  _ incredible _ . The suit is perfectly tailored to his measurements and, although he’d been wary about it since he’d found it in the garment bag, the extravagant cane pulls the costume together.

Charlie and Gilda are fussing with their dresses when Castiel joins them in the living room. and Charlie actually honest to God whistles at him when she sees him. 

“Damn, Cas. Look at you. You’ll have people fawning over you all night!”

“Oh, joy,” Castiel mutters with a roll of his eyes, accepting another box from her. This one contains his mask, which is beautiful. It’s as intricate as the work on his suit, entirely made of what feels like copper. Cogs and steampunk machinery weave through the mask that will cover everything but his mouth and jaw, Castiel’s fingers are itching to fit it over his own face. Charlie and Gilda are still carrying theirs, though, so he resists.

After a few more adjustments and a quiet but sincere compliment to Gilda, they all pile into the limo parked in front of Castiel’s building. The doors to the venue are still an hour from opening, but there’s no telling how busy the traffic will be this time of night in Los Angeles, and with the number of people coming to this thing, he’s sure they’ll be waiting a long time to be dropped off. 

Sure enough, they wait nearly two hours before they’re dropped at the start of the red carpet. He’s not entirely sure why they have to walk the red carpet—Castiel’s nothing but a writer, Gilda a costume designer, and Charlie a camera operator. They’re not people the press would be interested in, at least not normally. Tonight, though, with their gorgeous outfits and stunning masks, a buzz quickly makes its way through the crowd of press. Thankfully, they’re halfway toward the door before anyone begins shouting questions at them, so it’s easy enough to ignore them and continue inside. 

Whoever designed the party knew what they were doing. There’s a beautiful carpet spanning the length of the ballroom with cogs and machinery running throughout. Dark oak compliments the light colors of the rug and matches the table and chairs that run the length of the room. They look equipped to hold a couple of hundred people at least. He hadn’t realized this party was that exclusive, and it only fuels his anxiety. Still, Charlie and Gilda had been talking about this party for months and, from what Castiel has seen over the years, Gabriel’s Halloween parties are the event of the season. Anyone who thinks they’re someone vies for an invite, but Castiel had always declined his until this year; Gabriel may be his favorite brother, but this isn’t exactly Castiel’s scene. 

Most of the party seems to be in the other ballroom, which has been cleared out for dancing and mingling. Charlie had suggested that they try to network here, with some of the biggest stars in Hollywood, but Gabriel had quickly shut that down. This is the one party a year where everyone can be completely anonymous and most of them would like to keep it that way, they wouldn’t take too kindly to someone trying to discover their identity.

The room falls eerily silent, as least as far as conversation is concerned, so Castiel turns to the entrance of the ballroom. There, standing in the doorway with the most ornate mask Castiel has seen so far, is a man in a form-fitting, deep red tux. His jacket is buttoned closed but Castiel can just make out a tight vest hugging what’s no doubt a perfect figure. The mask is the real otherworldly part of his costume, though. It’s copper, with jagged metal teeth covering the man’s mouth and grates over the eyes. Two coiled tubes run around his mask, one from the side of his left eye to the bridge of his nose and the other from the side of his right eye down to his jaw. He has a tophat made of the same fabric as his suit perched perfectly on his head and a jet black cane with an ornate silver dragon in his grip. It’s stunning. Castiel can’t help but feel like he’s a little underdressed when faced with this man.

Conversation resumes after a moment and the man takes a few cautious steps farther into the room. He heads in Castiel’s direction, nodding as he passes on his way to the bar. Castiel smiles back, but all he can make out on the other man’s face is warm green eyes surrounded by laugh lines. Castiel’s not usually one for love—or lust—at first sight but as he watches this man walk past him, something inside of him urges him to go say hello. He has no reason not to, so he swallows his nerves and heads to the bar.

“Whiskey for me, and whatever he’s having,” the man says, waving a hand toward Castiel. 

“I’ll take the same. Thank you. I’m—uh, it’s…”

He thinks he sees the man smile wryly, though he can’t be sure given his mask. “Nice to meet me? I know what you mean. It’s nice to meet you too, man.”

The bartender slides them their drinks and the man raises his in a small salute to Castiel before lifting his mask a bit and taking a sip. Castiel can see a hint of a strong jawline dotted with stubble and lips that are like a siren’s call. Perhaps it’s been a bit too long since he’s been on a date. “Don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before.” He can just barely make out a smirk on the man’s lips as he drops his mask back down. “New to the scene?”

Castiel hums. “Somewhat. The people here are my peers, absolutely, but parties like this—parties in general, for that matter—aren’t my thing. Gabriel insisted this year. He knows I’m fond of steampunk and he’s always nagging me about socializing more.”

“Gabriel?  _ Novak _ ? You know him personally?”

Castiel chuckles. “Unfortunately. He’s the most tolerable of my… er, friends.” Saying Gabriel is his sibling would give away his identity, which is the antithesis of this party. Perhaps he’s not very good at concealing his identity after all. 

“Friends, huh? I’ve been trying to get a meeting with that guy for-fuckin’-ever. I swear he’s the busiest guy on the planet.”

Castiel hums. “Not busy. He likes to make people wait so they feel more important once they’ve finally gotten a meeting with him.”

The man snorts. “Ah. Makes sense, I guess.”

They sip their drinks in companionable silence and chitchat softly, too absorbed in each other’s company to notice the ballroom filling up behind them. By the time they finally look up from their conversation, the party is in full swing, and Charlie and Gilda are nowhere to be seen. Castiel sighs and sets his empty glass on the bar.

“I should go find my friends and make sure they’re alright. I suppose I’ll see you around?”

The man nods and sends him a small wave as he walks off. Castiel turns to face the huge crowd and groans softly. How he’s ever going to find Charlie and Gilda within the mass of people on the dance floor is a mystery to him, but he draws up his courage and wades into the crowd anyway.

Charlie and Gilda are right in the center, clearly drunk and giddy, having the time of their lives. They both seem to spot him at the same time and unceremoniously yank him into the center with them. 

“We missed you! You disappeared as soon as that devil got here,” Charlie gets out between giggles, leaning against Gilda heavily.

“Devil?” Castiel prompts with a smile. “The man in the red suit, you mean? I had a few drinks with him, yes. I figured you didn’t need me bringing down your party mood.”

Charlie hums and flings an arm around Gilda’s shoulders. “That’s a good point. I’m hungry.”

Castiel laughs. “Dinner’s nearly ready, I saw the waitstaff bringing out plates.”

As Castiel finishes his sentence, one of the waitstaff turns the music down and announces that dinner is served in the other ballroom. Most of the crowd filters into there immediately, so Castiel gently wraps an arm around Charlie’s waist and guides her into the ballroom, with Gilda close behind. He takes a few moments to look around for the man in red but, at least from where he’s standing, there’s no sign of him. 

Castiel doesn’t see him the rest of the evening and he’s more than a little disappointed when Charlie and Gilda suggest they head home. He can’t exactly argue with them, it’s nearly two in the morning and Charlie starts back at work in a couple of days, but it feels wrong to leave without seeing his mystery man, or at least saying goodbye. 

It’s not until he tries to call them a cab that he realizes he doesn’t have his phone. He can’t even remember the last time he checked it, his brain is so fuzzy from the mix of alcohol and sleepiness. He vaguely remembers checking it when he was talking to his mystery man at the bar but when he tries to remember if he’d used it at any point after that, he comes up blank. He tells Charlie and Gilda to wait there for him as he doubles back into the venue, making his way through the departing crowd to get back to the bar. He flags down the bartender and asks about a lost phone, to no avail. He checks a few other places he’d been that night but his phone is nowhere to be found. Defeated, he returns to Charlie and Gilda and borrows Charlie’s phone to call them a cab. 

They’re ten minutes away from Castiel’s apartment when Charlie gets a call on her cell phone from Castiel’s cell phone. He’s the only one remotely sober enough to answer, so he gently pries the phone from her hands and accepts the call.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause on the other end, then a chuckle. “Hi, uh… sorry, I didn’t exactly expect someone to answer, much less  _ you _ . You left your phone at the bar. I tried to flag you down but by the time I’d realized, you’d disappeared into the crowd. Uh. Sorry, I’m the guy you were sitting at the bar with I think? At least, that  _ sounds _ like your voice.”

Castiel can’t help but sit there in stunned silence. Of all the people to have his phone, the man he’d spent the better part of the evening talking to has it? This has to be the universe giving him a second chance.

“Yes, it’s me. Thank you for finding my phone. I’m sorry I missed you when I left.”

“No sweat, man. Gabriel wanted to meet with me shortly after we parted ways, I missed most of the party. Listen, I can drop off your phone if that’s cool? Where do you live?”

“On Birch Street. I’m staying at a friend’s house tonight, though. Would you mind dropping it off in the morning if you’re not busy? I’ll treat you to breakfast for returning my phone.”

There’s a quiet, pleased hum on the other end of the line. “How about I just return your phone out of the kindness of my heart and we go to breakfast as a date, instead?”

Castiel blinks, then glances at the screen. He can’t believe what he’s hearing and he’s starting to wonder if it’s his alcohol-addled brain playing tricks on him. “You want to go on a date?”

“Yeah, man. If you don’t, that’s completely fine too. Just seemed like we clicked at the party, but—”

“No!” Castiel interrupts, perhaps a bit too forcefully. “I would love that. We did. Click, I mean. I enjoyed your company.”

“Feeling’s mutual. Alright, tomorrow morning it is.”

Castiel jots down the man’s number and quickly sends him a text from Charlie’s phone with his address. It’s only as he’s crawling into bed at Charlie’s that he realizes he still doesn’t even know his date’s name. 

* * *

Castiel half believes that he dreamt up the weird phone call in the cab back from Gabe’s party. The other half of him is wound tighter than a jack-in-the-box at the thought that his date with the mystery man is real. He can’t even be a wuss and text to make sure that their meetup is still on—unless he borrows Charlie’s. She wouldn’t mind. Knowing Charlie, she’d probably text for him, or worse call and ask what the guy’s intentions are towards her friend. Yeah, on second thought, he’d better hightail it back to his apartment.

Back at his apartment, he sets the kettle on the stove to boil while he showers. A cup of soothing tea with honey—probably aided by a couple of Tylenol—will help settle the churning in his gut and dull the pounding in his head.

Castiel is standing under the mercifully hot water contemplating the merits—or lack thereof—of shaving when the entry system goes off. That decides that then. He turns the water off, shakes the worst of it out of his hair, and grabs a towel off the hook on the back of the bathroom door. It’s at that second that the kettle starts to whistle. The piercing sound is way too loud to leave going while he answers the entry system. 

By the time he’s got back to the apartment door, it’s ringing again. He’s disappointed when instead of the voice like the smooth burn of fine whiskey that he remembers from last night, there’s a very distinct Cajun twang from the man who speaks into the intercom.

“I believe I have something that belongs to you. Left at the bar at Gabriel Novak’s party?”

“Right, yes, my phone. Thank you.” Castiel tries to keep his tone neutral. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone’s had second thoughts about a date. Nerdy, almost shut-in writers don’t make the best companions. 

He realizes that he hasn’t buzzed the man in or said that he’ll come down, when his would-be visitor speaks again, “You want the phone back, or is there somewhere I can leave it, or…” 

Castiel pushes the button to let him in. No time to be selective about what he’s wearing for the date…that maybe isn’t a date. But he can’t greet whoever is coming up to his apartment with only a towel slung around his hips. Thankfully his wardrobe isn’t extensive, so whatever comes to hand that isn’t sweats will do the job. 

Castiel is dressed in record time and running a hand through his hair to make it look as if he’s tried to do something with it when there’s the knock on his door he should have been expecting. Still made him jump, though not half as much as when he opens the door. It’s not so much fright that spooks him, more who is standing on the other side of his door.

“But…but…the man on…the intercom…” Real smooth, Novak. Real smooth.

Sinful lips turn up at the corners, eyes the color of his favorite green tea sparkle, and laugh lines crease. “Yeah, about that…that would be Benny. He’s my…security, PA, driver, jack-of-all-trades…friend.”

That makes sense, Castiel supposes. But then why is HE, not this Benny, standing at Castiel’s front door?

“You gonna let me in, or do I have to stand out in the hallway like yesterday’s tossed out garbage…err…um…?”

“Castiel.” The cogs in Castiel’s brain spring to life again, sort of. He can’t wrap his head around the fact that an award-winning actor is standing on his doorstep. “Excuse me, where are my manners! Please come in, Mr. Winchester.”

“Dean, Cas. Just Dean.”

“As you wish, Dean.”

Castiel backs away from the door, running his hand through his hair again. One day, he’ll learn how to tame it. Today is not that day.

“Sorry…” a smirk flashes across Dean’s face, “did I get you out of the shower?”

The thermostat is set at a constant 68 degrees, why is it Castiel feels like he’s standing in the middle of Death Valley at noon in the height of summer just from that look?

“Yes. We didn’t agree on a time last night. As I said, I was staying at a friend’s last night, and without my phone, I didn’t set an alarm, so I woke up when I did, and then I needed a cup of tea, so I had to get that started for when…oh.” Castiel remembers that the kettle is now going cold on the trivet by the stove, he shoots a longing glance towards the kitchen. “Then…I…”

Dean strides past Castiel into the kitchen, “Any coffee in here? I could make drinks while we figure out where to go?”

“You don’t have to do that. Wherever you want to go will be fine, I’m sure…” Castiel stops himself before he starts rambling — again.

Dean leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and one ankle hooked over the other. His eyes rake up and down Castiel’s body. “You might want to rethink that answer. I mean, you can wear whatever you want. I won’t judge. We can’t all have great fashion sense. But, seriously?”

Castiel is about to make some scathing remark about how jeans, boots, a t-shirt, and flannel could hardly be called great fashion sense when he pauses to look down at what he’s thrown on in his panic to get to the door.

“I see what you mean.” A white dress shirt, with the buttons done up mismatched, and a pair of bee patterned pajama pants. Total fail! He’d be lucky if Dean stayed while he found an outfit that looked like an adult had put it together.

“Beach or Hills?”

Castiel tilts his head, his brow furrowing at Dean’s question. “I’m not sure…”

“Breakfast. In the West Hills or down at the beach somewhere?”

“Ah…beach. I love looking at the ocean, although I’ve not been for ages. Since the end of spring maybe? Most of the beaches get too busy during the summer and early fall for my liking. Give me five, and I’ll change. No need for tea we can…”

It is too late; Dean already has his phone out. “Get me my usual, and get Cas…what type of tea?”

“Peppermint with honey please,” Cas replies as he heads into his bedroom to change. 

* * *

“Got you a reservation at The Rose down in Venice. Asked them for a table out of public view – it’s under Young. Garth’s on-call if you need him. Don’t do anything stupid, brotha.”

Benny claps Dean on the shoulder before handing him the keys to a monster of a black car that seems unsuitable for the crowded streets of Downtown LA.

If he didn’t have his sunglasses on and a baseball cap pulled down so low, Castiel would put money on Dean winking at either him or Benny as he takes the keys and hurries around to the driver’s side. The one thing Castiel doesn’t miss is the sweep of a hand that lasts a moment too long on the car’s roof.

He has hardly got himself seated and reaching for a seatbelt when Dean launches them out into the traffic.

“Beautiful, isn’t she? Baby’s my pride and joy,” Dean says, reaching to turn the stereo on.

Metallica blasts from the speakers, drowning out any opportunity for meaningful conversation. Except for the warning from Dean that as ‘shotgun’ Castiel gets no say in the music. Not that Castiel would think to be so rude in someone else’s car as to change the music.

Once they get on the freeway, Baby comes into her own. Castiel gets why Dean loves the old girl as she powers through the miles at a barely legal speed. She suits Dean. Castiel has no idea why, but he can’t imagine Dean driving anything else on four wheels.

* * *

“You like your food? I’d…um…” He’s about to do one of his awkward as fuck, not-so-good-at-the-people-skills things, but he can’t back out now. “I’d assumed you’d be like the others…”

Dean’s face lights up. He’s the most compelling sight in the restaurant, even with cheeks puffed out with his burger. “Picking away at the rabbit food?” he asks, his mouth still full.

Castiel pushes the remains of his benny around his plate. “Yes. Any other stars I’ve seen, and admittedly that isn’t a big number, but they’ve acted like they’re afraid of food.”

Dean swallows before answering, the last two mouthfuls of burger in his hand poised and ready to bite as soon as he’s done speaking. “Everyone’s allowed days off. This is mine.” He lowers the burger and leans across the table. In a too low voice for anyone else but Castiel to hear, Dean admits, “old habits die hard. When I was a kid, I never knew where the next meal was coming from, so I learned to eat as much as I could as fast as I could when there was food.”

There’s not much the entitled kid from New York’s Upper Eastside can say to that. He’s never been in danger of missing a meal he hasn’t wanted to. It’s the first uncomfortable silence since they left Castiel’s apartment. So, Castiel scoops up the last of his meal and shovels it into his mouth. 

Dean does the same with the rest of his breakfast burger and fries. 

“So, how is it you really know Gabe?”

It’s quite an abrupt change of conversation, but it breaks the silence. The problem for Castiel is that now the embarrassing question tables are turned. Dean’s choice of words isn’t lost on Castiel, but he’s at a loss for why Dean brought it up. Unless?

“Had an interesting talk with him. Mostly about the business and me chatting him up to see if he’ll back an ‘out there’ project idea of mine that’s gonna need more than just little ol’ me pushing it through the Hollywood mill. What got me, though, was when we talked about family. Gabe let slip that his…how did he put it…oh yeah…his almost ‘reclusive little brother’ had finally consented to come to one of the big parties. He hoped that his brother was having a good time despite Gabe not being around to pull him out of his shell.”

“And you immediately thought of me?”

Dean leans back in his chair signaling for the nearest server, grinning like the damned Cheshire Cat.

Castiel wilts under the knowing gaze. “Yes, he’s my brother.”

“Good glad we cleared that up. Must have been fun growing up with him around.”

Castiel hums, desperate not to give away too much without being so obvious about avoiding the subject. 

“You’d think,” is what he comes up with. He leaves off the parts about how having the twins, a narcissist for a mother, and a good as absent father overshadowed what light Gabe brought to his childhood. Because neither of them admits to much of their background, except that they came from old New York money.

The server interrupts the conversation.

“We’ll take four orders of the pie to go, and the check please.” Dean winks at the server, then at Castiel.

Thankfully, having got his answer on Castiel and Gabriel’s connection, Dean drops the subject. As they wait for the check, Dean dons his baseball cap again, pulling the brim as low as it will go.

Castiel tries to grab the check before Dean. He’s too slow. He pouts.

Dean smirks as he pays.

“I ought to be paying, Dean. You found my phone, and I offered you breakfast for returning it.”

Castiel can’t be sure, because the sunglasses are now back in place leaving only the bottom half of Dean’s face visible but, he would bet that there’s a mischievous glint in Dean’s eyes as he reminds him, “You did, Cas. But then I turned it into a date which you accepted. So, I pay.”

* * *

“Dean? This isn’t the way back to LA?” They’re heading up the coast on the Pacific Coast Highway towards Malibu.

“Nope,” Dean turns to grin at Castiel batting his lashes and pretending to play the innocent.

Castiel raises one eyebrow. They have gotten on so well that he doesn’t want the date to end yet. But Dean is a big movie star who must have better things to do than hang out with a lowly writer. Castiel is struggling to wrap his head around the idea that the man he ‘clicked’ with last night, the man who’s taken him to breakfast this morning, is the A-lister Dean Winchester. 

“I know this great spot away from everyone else. I thought,” the usual cockiness is gone from Dean’s voice. He sounds less certain of himself. “I thought we could sit and watch the waves roll in and out for a bit with no-one staring at me trying to work out who’s under the hat and sunglasses.”

Castiel shifts on the bench seat, angling his body towards Dean. “I’d like that.”

He spends the rest of the drive staring at Dean. The way the sunlight catches the hair on his arm as Dean rests it on the open window. The number of freckles that cluster over Dean’s cheeks. It’s a pity that they’ve been covered with make-up whenever Castiel has seen Dean before. The first signs of wrinkles. The stray one or two white hairs peeking through the other close-cut dark blond strands. His fingers itch to run through the short hairs at the base of Dean’s neck and ruffle the floppy between-movies-bangs which are swept up under the baseball cap.

Castiel wants to know the real Dean. Not the red-carpet façade. The chameleon who’s worn so many different faces throughout his career. He wants to know the man who grew up in the midwest, with only his deadbeat dad and baby brother for company. It makes sense to the writer, who took psychology classes alongside his MFA, why Dean’s public face is what it is. Castiel knows that there are secrets hidden underneath it. That one shy look and wavering tone told him as much. Now Castiel wants to know all of it.

As they speed up the Pacific Highway, Castiel’s mind wanders. Is Dean one of those stars who owns a Malibu beach house tucked away from prying eyes? Is that why it’s away from everyone else? That doesn’t seem to fit the Dean he’s just had lunch with, but Castiel knows that there aren’t many beaches that will be empty even at this time of year. Castiel rests an arm on the window ledge and, when he can tear his eyes away from Dean, he stares out at the glimpses of the water stretching away to the horizon. He loves watching the waves roll in and out, and keeps his eyes glued to the water because Castiel doesn’t want Dean to think that he’s the starstruck creep. He is though, a creep that is, desperately trying to memorize every detail of the man next to him before Dean inevitably drops him back at his apartment, leaving Castiel to his humdrum life.

Castiel has been so wrapped up in his own world that it hasn’t registered that they’ve turned off the highway too early to have reached Malibu. In fact, they’ve not passed by the national park. The road peters out into a small single lane dirt track.

Dean hops out the second Baby shudders to a halt. He climbs onto the hood and beckons for Castiel to join him.

It is remarkable that two human beings who met less than twenty-four hours ago can forgo the need to talk. It’s great when they do, Dean is witty and irrepressibly flirty- but the companionable silences between them when there’s no Zeppelin or AC/DC blasting out of the speakers soothes Castiel’s nerves.

Castiel regrets not following Dean’s lead to bring an overshirt. Up here on the bluffs, the wind is stronger, bringing the temperature down to the mid-60s. It’s still not uncomfortable, but he’d prefer more than the thin black t-shirt he’s got on. He rubs at the imaginary goosebumps on his arms.

Dean chuckles. Before Castiel realizes what’s happening, let alone has time to object, Dean has shucked his flannel off and drapes it over Castiel’s shoulders.

“It’s more part of my armor, the way I’ve always dressed, rather than needing the shirt to keep me warm,” he explains with a shrug. “You looked like you could use it more than me.”

“Thank you — again.”

“Oh…It’s about time,” Dean jumps off the hood to go fetch something from the glove compartment, “I returned your phone.”

His phone! They’ve been together for a few hours now and he hasn’t once thought to ask for his phone back. Huh?

Dean soon returns to his place on the hood, offering the phone to Cas. “I was gonna hold it hostage. Well, I guess I already did that. But I had this stupid thought that if you forgot it again, I’d get another chance to see you.”

All the breath leaves Castiel’s body in one go. His mouth opens and shuts without him being able to form the words. Instead, he lets his body do the talking. He gently takes the proffered phone and slips it into his back pocket. He shuffles closer to Dean, snaking his hand out until he can feel Dean’s fingers. He nudges at them until Dean lifts his palm enough that Castiel can slide his hand into Dean’s.

Castiel hopes Dean gets his answer to the unasked question hanging between them. He doesn’t just want to see Dean again; he needs to see him again. Because, if he’s honest with himself, Castiel can’t see himself wanting to let go of Dean’s hand anytime soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find **this fic** on [Tumblr]()
> 
> Find **me** on [Tumblr](https://fangirlingtodeath513.tumblr.com/) and [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/fangirlingtodeath513)  
>   
>  **Please don’t post my works anywhere without my permission.**


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